


No Way Back From Here

by PracticallyIJ



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, London Adventures, M/M, kind of anyway, oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5965858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PracticallyIJ/pseuds/PracticallyIJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A totally fictional weekend, set around the time that Q and Sal went to London for the What Say You? live podcast shows. They do some sightseeing and get into their usual shenanigans. Things, however, get a little awkward due to constant tension and misunderstandings on both of their parts. Whatever happens in the end, there's no way of going back to the way it used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Way Back From Here

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! This fic started out as one thing and ended up an entirely different thing (read: an actual behemoth). I hope you enjoy it, because it was the most challenging one I've written to date, but also the most rewarding.  
> Rated M for both language and smut. Enjoy!

“We’re here. God, I’m _exhausted_. Can we nap before we head out sightseeing?” Sal hated flying, and an eight hour flight from New York to London was uncomfortable in every way possible. Q’s solid presence beside him, the other man occasionally murmuring reassuringly into his ear, his hand squeezing Sal’s a little, had just about stopped him from freaking the fuck out.

His best friend laughed. Paying the cab driver and getting their bags out of the car, he turned to Sal, a fond smile on his face. “Of course, bud. Like I’d drag you straight out anyway, after how you were on the plane.” He reached out, squeezing Sal’s shoulder briefly. “C’mon, let’s check in. We could both use a nap.”

******

Generally when Sal walked into a hotel room he would be met with something weird or disgusting, like garbage all over the place or a “Gatto special”. So he was pleasantly surprised when he walked into their room and found no bizarre situation awaiting them. Then he caught sight of the bed. The double bed. Of which there was only one. He turned and looked at Q, who had only just got in the door. “Uhh, Quinn? I know we said we were sharing a room, but sharing a _bed_ …?” He trailed off, feeling weirdly awkward.

“Huh?” Q closed the door behind him, dumped their bags by the closet, then turned to look. An odd expression appeared on his face, and Sal couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it meant. He put it down to the guy being beat from the journey. “Oh, man. I guess there musta been a mix-up at the desk. Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll get it sorted out.” He smiled at Sal, then left, throwing an “I’ll be back before ya know it, bud!” over his shoulder.

Sal suddenly felt like his heart and stomach were holding some kinda house party to which every fucker was invited. He reflected that he was used to feeling like this around the guy - it had been happening for years. At first it had only happened when Q did something to _really_ make him laugh, like, fall to the floor kinda laughing. He’d be breathless and tears would be clouding his eyes, and he’d see his best friend leaning over him, laughing too, and then he’d be flooded with all these feelings. At first he’d assumed it was the heightened emotions that always came with uncontrollable laughter… but then, slowly, it became more and more frequent, and these days all Q had to do to get Sal feeling like a confused fucking teenager was smile at him. He had tried hard never to think about what it all meant, instead acknowledging - barely - that the feelings were there, and carrying on with his life. After all, what was the alternative? Sal quickly tried to think about something else. His train of thought had started unravelling threads that he did _not_ wanna touch any time soon, if ever. He sat on the edge of the bed and sighed, then stood up again as Q walked back into the room. “Did you have any luck?”

“Uhh… sorry, man. They said all the rooms with twin beds were full, I guess we got double booked or somethin’.” Q had a weird look on his face again. If Sal didn’t know better, he’d think he looked almost guilty. “But the good news is, they upgraded us!”

Sal looked at Q for a long moment. “So you’re saying that basically what’s happening is they’re just giving us a bigger bed to share?” He really didn’t know how to feel. Were they really gonna have to share a bed? It wasn’t such a big deal, they’d known each other for fucking years, shared close quarters plenty of times… so why did this feel like crossing some kinda invisible line?  

Q must have seen the conflicted look on Sal’s face and taken it to mean he was feeling anxious, because he dropped the nonchalant ‘everything’s fine’ act, took two steps across the room and placed his hand lightly on Sal’s forearm, rubbing his thumb back and forth gently. “Hey, don’t worry, buddy. It’ll be fine. I’ll give you as much space as you need, okay? Listen - how ‘bout we take turns? You take the bed tonight, and I’ll take the-”

“No!” Sal interrupted, feeling terrible at even the thought of Q having to sleep on the floor, “you’re right, it’ll be fine. Dude, we’re best friends. We can share a bed for a few nights.” He smiled, hoping Q didn’t see straight through it to the churning anxiety - and secret, guilty anticipation - inside him.

“You sure, bud?” Q asked, his eyes concerned and puppyish, “I don’t want this to ruin your vacation.”  
Sal nodded. He was finding it slightly difficult to breathe, and this time it had little to do with anxiety. He suspected it was more to do with the fact that his best friend was so close to him - _gazing_ at him with those fucking eyes of his, and he still had a warm, solid hand on Sal’s arm, rubbing lightly with his thumb. Did Q even realise he was doing that? It was really fucking distracting. Sal gathered his thoughts. “Really, it’s okay. And hey,” he said, grinning, “I can trust you not to make a move on me in the night… right?”

Q laughed and ducked his head. Blushing a little, he stepped into Sal’s space even further, and looked him up and down slowly, which made him feel ridiculously self conscious. “Well, I dunno. You’re pretty irresistible, buddy. I might not be able to keep my hands off of you.”

Sal realised that despite the deadpan delivery, his friend was joking, but something about it still threw him off guard. He stepped back, feeling wrongfooted, and trying to think of something to say to dispel the awkwardness, but clever comebacks failed him. Instead, he cleared his throat. “Uhm. So. Why don’t we go check out our new room?”

“Sure, buddy.” As they left the room, Sal noticed that Q looked a little crestfallen.

******

“Are you _sure_ this is the room they upgraded us to?”

“Yeah, they told me the number and gave me the key, it’s right here. Look, bud, I know what it _says_ , but it’s just a room. And probably a pretty fuckin’ nice one. So I think we should take it.”

Q and Sal were standing outside the door of their new hotel room. Which read _Honeymoon Suite_. Q seemed fairly unconcerned by the fact that they would be staying in a room meant for newlywed couples - although, given his history, how he _really_ felt about it was another matter - and Sal knew he shouldn’t care either, but it kinda felt like a punch in the balls. It was getting more difficult by the minute to ignore the feelings he had for Q, and now this? It seemed like the universe was just fucking with him, teasing him with what he would never be able to have. He didn’t wanna think about it, didn’t wanna face up to it. He wanted things to stay as they were because anything else could mean a broken heart or a ruined friendship… but all of these fucking _feelings_ were just bubbling up inside him, and Sal was afraid that if he didn’t face them, they’d come out anyway, in damaging ways that he wouldn’t be able to control. He sighed, dragging a hand across his face. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just a room. And I _really_ need to fuckin' nap, man. Go on, open it up.”

Q did, and they both stepped in, depositing their bags near the doorway. He looked around the spacious, well-lit room, his expression one of mild surprise. “Wow. This room is really fuckin’ nice.”

“It really is. Holy fuck, look at the bed! Never mind just me and you, it could fit Joe and Murr as well!” Sal crossed the room to the enormous bed and flopped down on it, heaving a great sigh. “Oh my God, it’s so comfortable. Q, is there any way we can take this with us when we go?”

Q laughed warmly. “Well, I think we could fit it on the plane, but then there’s the matter of custody when we get it home.” He took his shoes off and joined Sal on the bed, lying on his stomach. “Fuck, this _is_ comfortable.”

“How about I get it Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, and you get it Thursday, Friday, and Saturday?”

“What about Sunday?”

Sal thought for a moment. “I guess we’ll have to share.”

An oddly pleased expression flashed across Q’s face for a moment, before it disappeared and he looked puzzled. He turned onto his side to face Sal fully. “Hold on a second. Where will we keep it? We can’t keep movin' a huge-ass bed from mine to yours and back twice a week.”

Sal yawned, feeling really sleepy all of a sudden. “God, I don’t know. We’ll think about that when we get it home. Right now all I wanna do is _sleep_ in the fucker.”

Q smiled gently, the sweet way his eyes crinkled making Sal feel breathless again. “Me too, bud. I probably won’t sleep long, so I’ll wake you up in a couple hours, okay?”

Sal gave a half-assed thumbs up, his eyes already closed. The last thing he remembered before giving into his exhaustion was Q giving a sigh and settling a little. Then... nothing.

******

Sal was woken abruptly by the room phone ringing. He sat up, feeling disoriented, and looked at the clock on the side table next to him, then at Q, who was still fast asleep at his other side. God, he was fucking adorable when he was asleep. Mouth slightly open, face totally relaxed, he looked like he _never_ did when he was awake: as though he didn’t have any worries or sorrows at all, and as though shitty things had never happened to turn him into the guarded, slightly bitter person he was now. Sal wished… Sal wished a lot of things, and the foremost of these had always been the same: for Brian Quinn to be happy. All the other wishes were just unimportant selfish little things in comparison.

He sighed and got up, taking care not to shake the bed and disturb Q, then picked up the phone. “Hello?”

A woman’s voice came down the line. “Hello, Sir. We’re just ringing to check if you and your husband are enjoying your upgrade. We’d like to apologise again for the double booking…”

Sal had stopped listening after the word _husband_. Mumbling out a cursory “Thank you, it’s fine, no problem”, and putting the phone down, he walked over to the sofa and buried his face in his hands. _What the fuck, Quinn?_ Maybe the staff had called the wrong room. Or maybe they made the assumption that they were married and Q corrected them, but the message hadn’t got back to that one woman? Q would know, but Sal didn’t wanna wake him. He got out his phone in the meantime and sent a message to Joe:

_To: Joe_

_From: Sal_

_Got to London, didn’t die on the plane. Get this: hotel staff think we’re married! Wtf?_

A couple of minutes later, his phone flashed.

_To: Sal_

_From: Joe_

_You mean you’re not? Glad you survived the trip. Murray says hi_

Sal laughed out loud and quickly typed out a reply.

_To: Joe_

_From: Sal_

_Shut up, it’s serious! They upgraded us to a honeymoon suite because of it. I don’t think Q corrected them? Tell Murr hi._

This time, the reply came back in less than a minute, followed quickly by three more.

_To: Sal_

_From: Joe_

_[4 messages]_

_Honeymoon huh? TAKE FULL ADVANTAGE ;D_

_Seriously, I’m not blind Sally boy, I know how you feel. You got a chance, take it._

_You know, if he didn’t correct them, then he doesn’t mind people thinking you’re married._

_Murr says if you don’t get with Quinn before you’re back from London you get the next punishment_

Sal felt like crying. Why did he bring the other guys into this again? He typed a final reply.

_To: Joe_

_From: Sal_

_You guys fuckin suck! If you punish me for not sleeping with my best friend I will never forgive you!_

He didn’t bother waiting for a message back, knowing it would just comprise of sarcastic remarks. Suddenly he heard a sigh and movement from the bed, and looked up to find Q sitting up. He was rubbing his eyes, his hair was messy, and his face was all red on one side where he’d slept. He looked so endearing that Sal had to ball his fists up to stop himself going over there and kissing him stupid. He yawned. “Shit, Sal, how long did I sleep?”

“Only about twenty minutes longer than me, but we both slept, like, two hours longer than we were supposed to, bud. It’s six o’clock.”

Q looked shocked. “Shit, really? I guess I was more tired than I thought. Sorry, man, looks like the sightseeing will have to wait till tomorrow. But we can go out to eat? I know some really nice places.”

Sal considered bringing up the topic of their apparent newlywed status, but he was fucking starving. “God, yes. I’m so hungry. Italian?”

“I know the perfect place.”

******

Paolo’s, a family run restaurant near Piccadilly Circus, was a cosy place with a warm, friendly atmosphere. They were greeted at the door by a young girl - who, to Sal’s confusion, seemed to recognise Q - and taken to their table. Then Paolo himself came over.

“Brian! Nice to see you again. It has been a while since you were last here. And you’ve brought a date! Good for you. He’s very handsome!”

Sal, who was in the middle of sipping water, choked. As he coughed and spluttered, trying to catch his breath, he heard Q reply, sounding amused. “Good to be here again. And, uh, handsome as he is, he’s actually my best friend. Paolo, meet Sal. Sal, this is Paolo.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sal managed to get out.

Paolo shook Sal’s hand, provoking that automatic uneasy prickle of _where’s that been?_ “Great to meet you, Sal! Now, here are your menus, and I hope you have a wonderful evening!” He bustled off, presumably to the kitchen. Sal felt like he’d just been hit by a tyre iron.

Q looked at Sal, and finally picked up in his bemusement. He smiled. “I told ya I knew the perfect place.”

“But how does he know you by _name_? And why did he think we’re dating?”

“The first one’s pretty simple. I come by every time I’m over here, and he’s the kinda guy who likes to get to know his customers. The second one… I dunno, buddy. Best not to think too much into it, let people think what they want.” A blush seemed to be rising in Q’s face, and Sal wondered why. Maybe it was the warmth of the place, or… or maybe he was actually embarrassed at the thought of being on a date with him.

Conversation halted as they ordered, and Sal thought about what Q had said. Then talk turned to different things: the live podcast, debates about unimportant shit. Eventually, their food arrived, and Sal changed the subject back. “Y’know when you said it’s best to let people think what they want? Isn't that kinda… lying to them?”

Q looked confused, and swallowed his mouthful. “How is it lying?”

“Well, you’re letting them think something that isn't true. And it could change the way they see you.” Sal took a bite of his dinner. “ _Fuck me_ , this is good.”

“I know, right? Anyway. It’s not like you’re changing anythin' if they already think that. If it’s a positive thing they think about you, then fine. If it’s negative, then fuck ‘em. Tellin’ them the truth won't really change that.”

Sal had to admit he had a point. Still… “The hotel staff phoned the room while you were asleep.”

“Oh yeah?” Q was attempting to look casually interested, but Sal knew him too well not to be able to see that there was something else going on. “What did they want?”

“They wanted to apologise again for double booking us… and they wanted to know if me and my _husband_ were enjoying our upgrade.”

Sal ate some more of his food and watched for Q’s reaction. He was definitely blushing now, and avoiding eye contact. He looked guilty again, that same expression as when he’d come back from trying to sort out the mix-up. Eventually he replied, sounding agitated and stumbling over his words a little. “Okay, they - they thought we were married and offered us that room, and I - I didn't correct them, because first of all, who knows what godawful room we could have gotten instead, and - and second, I don't really care what people think about us... I’m sorry, man. I should have told them we weren't together, but I - I guess I made a bad call. I’m sorry if I upset you, pal.”

He looked heartbreakingly sad, fingers twisting his napkin, and Sal immediately regretted calling him out. He reached out and covered the other guy’s hand with his, pulling it away from the half-shredded tissue. “Ahh, God, Q. I’m sorry, I didn't mean for it to sound like that. I’m not mad at you, I promise. I was just really confused is all.” Q lifted his eyes to meet Sal’s, and Sal smiled. “I kinda get why you did it now, anyway.”

“Really?” The look in Q’s eyes changed from one of remorse to one that Sal couldn't place. If he didn't know better, he’d say it was _hope_ , but that wouldn't make sense. What would Q be hoping for right now?

“Yeah, buddy. You’re right. Fuck what people think. Let ‘em believe what they like.” Saying that out loud made Sal feel weird inside, selfishly pleased. If people believed they were together, he’d be a small step closer to what he was beginning to realise that he was yearning for. It would be like pretending it was real, at least for a little while.

Q looked pleased. “Thanks, Sal. Hey, are you done with that? Do you want dessert? They do the most fucking insane gelato here.”

Sal really did want dessert, and it was amazing. Once again, the conversation was banal, harmless. Sal revelled in his best friend’s company, enjoyed looking at him as he waved his hands around to emphasise a point. He loved watching his features as he got into a topic he was _really_ passionate about - animated, eyes wide and sparkling and dark. And he loved it when Q listened to him talk too. The way he leaned forward on his arms, eyes fixed intently on Sal’s, nodding and humming a response occasionally. He gave Sal his full attention, made him feel _special_.

Suddenly, watching Q talk enthusiastically about whether Superman would get along with Captain America, he felt a great flood of affection fill him up, until he was so full of it that he almost couldn't bear it. His breath caught in his throat and he felt tears pricking his eyes. _Fuck_ , he thought, still looking across at his friend, _I’m in love with you._ He’d known it all along, of course. He’d just avoided admitting it to himself because there was no way Q felt the same. He was fairly sure the guy was straight, so that was a pretty big problem right there. And that major obstacle aside, why would he look at him in _that_ way anyway? He was weird and neurotic, out of shape, and not all that good looking. Q could do a lot better. Sal suddenly felt tired of thinking about it. He just wanted to go back to the room and sleep.

Q had obviously picked up on something, because he stopped talking abruptly and gazed at Sal, concern written plain on his face. He reached over and touched Sal’s hand briefly. “You okay, buddy? You looked really fuckin’ weird just now.”

Sal plastered a smile on his face, an expression he wasn’t feeling at all. “I’m okay. I guess that nap wasn’t enough - I suddenly feel really drained, man.”

Q gestured to the waitress that they were ready to pay the bill. “C’mon then, Sally. We’ll get an early night, and tomorrow I’ll show you round a few cool places before the show. How’s that sound?”

“Perfect.”

******

In Sal’s defense, he really wasn’t lying about being exhausted - he felt like he could drop right where he was and sleep. Besides, Q didn’t need to know about why Sal had gone so weird in the restaurant. Ever.

When they got back to their room, they stood there for a few moments, looking at each other. The silence didn’t feel awkward, just… slightly heavy in a way that Sal couldn’t figure out. He felt trapped in Q’s gaze, either helpless or unwilling to find words to break the prolonged quiet. Just as he was about to open his mouth and say something, _anything_ , Q spoke up instead. “Uhh, so, do you wanna use the bathroom first? I don't mind waiting to shower.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Sal gathered up his wash stuff from his case and headed for the bathroom - which was fucking gorgeous. There was a spacious bath shower combo, clearly meant for two, soft lighting, and a beautiful big mirror. Sal hated it - he felt like it was rubbing everything he couldn't have in his face. He showered as quickly as he could, got into his pyjamas, brushed his teeth and headed back into the bedroom.

Q, sitting on the sofa, looked up from a book he was reading. “Oh, you’re done? How was the shower?” He put the book down and got up, getting his stuff together.

“Pretty nice. It’s one of those high pressure ones, y'know?”

“Oh God, I love those. Really feels like it’s beatin’ you up. Won't be long, bud.”

Q disappeared into the bathroom, and soon Sal could hear running water. He dug out his own book from his bag, flipped to where he’d left off, and started reading. He didn't get much more than a few pages in, though, because a noise pulled him out of his focus. He listened, trying to work out what it was. A few seconds later it happened again - unmistakeable this time - a low moan, muffled by running water, and Sal blushed deeply as he felt a sudden rush of realisation, mixed with a familiar tension in his belly.

“ _Fuck_ , Q,” he murmured, closing his eyes. He wasn't naive - obviously he knew that the guy _jerked off_ \- and he knew that Q sometimes did it to relieve stress. This was too much, though, and those cut off, half suppressed groans that were increasing in frequency were making Sal’s imagination run wild. He couldn't stop imagining his best friend, water running down his body, hand firmly gripping his dick, his eyes closed and his mouth open just a little, face a picture of pleasure… _Shit._ Now Sal was completely hard. And by the sound of it, Q was ... _done_... and out of the shower, which meant he could be out of the bathroom any minute. So he got into bed, desperately willing his boner to go down. He picked up his book and made a weak, half-assed attempt at reading again, and a few minutes later, Q reappeared, wearing Superman pyjamas and looking slightly flushed.

Sal tried not to notice Q’s complexion, because it really wasn't helping his awkward situation - so he focused on the pyjamas instead. He smirked. “Cute.”

“I’ll have you know, my friend, that these pyjamas get me laid 100% of the time.”

Sal snorted. “What are you doing in them _before_ you get laid?”

“Shut up.” Q crossed the room and got into bed. “Hey, we’re like Bert and Ernie!”

“Isn't there, like, a theory that they’re a couple?”

“What are you sayin’, buddy?” Q teased.

“I wasn't saying - I was just - _God_ , Quinn, I was only trying to give you a cool piece of information.” Sal rolled his eyes, hoping he’d covered up how flustered he was.

Instead of laughing, though, Q just looked kind of hurt and upset. “Wow, sorry. I was only teasin', man. Hey, we’re both tired. Let’s get some sleep.” He turned his lamp off, and lay down, rolling to face away from Sal.

“...Yeah. Night, buddy.” Sal replied, once again feeling confused and uncertain. At least his fucking boner had gone down. He turned his own lamp off and lay down, ready to sleep, but despite his exhaustion, it didn't come for a while.

******

Sal woke up gradually, coming to consciousness from an odd, slightly unpleasant dream he’d been having, in which Q wouldn’t look at him or talk to him, and his face was never quite in focus. The disturbing feelings it had provoked began to fade with the details of the dream. Then he remembered where he was, and who was right next to him. Q had rolled over in the night, and had thrown an arm over Sal at some point, shuffling closer - not close enough to call it spooning, but close enough that he could feel the other man’s deep, even breaths tickling the back of his neck. Sal felt a churning mess of feelings. This was everything he’d ever wanted, right here. He never wanted this moment to end. But he felt like he was taking advantage of Q’s unconscious movements, like he was almost _stealing_ the perfect moment. He sighed. What was the point of feeling like this anyway? When Q woke up, this stolen closeness would be gone and he’d still be upset at Sal for somehow saying the wrong thing. What a fucking mess.

He lay there for a while longer, eyes closed, debating whether to get up or not, when Q’s breathing changed, and he shifted, moving his arm, then sat up. Sal turned over to look at him. His eyes were soft and a little unfocused, his hair tousled - and he took Sal’s breath away. He smiled sleepily. “Mornin’, Sally. Did ya sleep well?” His voice was deep and a little rough.

Sal sat up and stretched. “Slept like a fucking baby. This bed is _awesome._ ” He wasn’t about to tell Q how long it had actually taken him to get to sleep. Still, his friend seemed okay this morning. Maybe all the awkward misunderstandings and conversational screw-ups from last night had been forgotten. God, it was like they were teenagers again - still getting to know one another, still finding each other’s limits and peculiarities and vulnerabilities. Sal recalled one particular incident about a year after they’d first met, and - he couldn’t even remember now who had started it, or how it had begun - they’d had a blazing argument in an empty classroom at lunchtime. Q had yelled something about Sal’s mother, and Sal, furious, had shouted back “ _that_ comin' from a scrawny-ass fucking _nerd_ with no fucking friends?”. There was a shocked silence, and Sal had immediately wanted to take those words back - to snatch them out of the air and pretend they’d never been said. But the damage had been done, and the devastated way Q had looked at Sal had choked him with guilt. He’d opened his mouth to apologise, but Q, bright red in the face, had grabbed his bag and rushed out of the room.

They’d made up a couple days later, of course. He’d got his mom to bake a little cake that he’d piped ‘I’m sorry’ onto the top of, and they shared it at lunch. They never mentioned the argument again. They’d fought plenty of times after that, but none of them still had the sharp guilt that Sal carried round with him to this day that that one did. And yesterday felt so weirdly like that, the way he kept saying stupid shit and getting that hurt look… Sal wished he knew what the fuck was going on.

“Penny for ‘em?”

Sal jumped. “God! Sorry, I was miles away. I guess I was remembering when we were kids.” He smiled at Q, who was watching him intently, waiting for him to elaborate. He shrugged. “I was just thinking about how we used to argue over stupid shit.”

Q smiled back - all lopsided and tender - then swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “I hate to tell ya this, buddy, but we _still_ argue over stupid shit.”

“Well, yeah, but back then it was different. You know what I mean.”

“I know.” Q gathered some of his clothes and headed for the bathroom, then paused by the door and looked back, his eyes wide and sincere. “I’m really glad you’re my friend, buddy.”

At that, Sal knew he was remembering the same argument. “I’m glad too, pal.”

After Q was done in the shower, Sal had his turn. He spent most of his shower trying his hardest not to remember what Q had been doing in there the night before, and failed spectacularly. Leaning one arm against the wall, he jerked off, turning his face into his shoulder to muffle his groans. After he came, all shuddering breaths and stifled moans, breathing his best friend’s name, he felt guilty and a little empty.

******

Breakfast at the hotel was pretty good. Despite the fact that Sal tended to be fairly rigid about his breakfast habits, he liked to have options, and there were plenty here. He picked up some toast and poured himself coffee, and headed over to sit at a table in the corner. Q joined him a few minutes later. “Ah come on, man. You didn’t go for the full English?”

“No. It’s so _greasy._ There’s so much of it. And - oh God, is that black pudding? Gross! Why would you eat that?” Sal replied, feeling slightly nauseous.

“It’s nice! You wanna try some?” Q poked some onto his fork and offered it to Sal. “Honestly, it doesn’t taste like what it is.”

“ _Fuck_ no. I’m fine over here with my toast.”

Q shrugged and ate the bite himself. “Your loss, bro.”

Sal privately thought it really _wasn’t_ his loss at all. He changed the subject. “So what have we got planned? I know what we’re doing tomorrow, but you’ve really kept me in the dark about today, bud.”

Q smiled, a mischievous grin that Sal immediately knew meant trouble for him. “I’ve got lotsa really cool stuff planned for us today, my friend. You’re gonna have a blast.”

“Oh, God.” Sal didn’t like where this was going, but dropped the subject. “By the way, I was greeted this morning by the hotel staff as ‘Mr. Quinn’. Does that make it official now?”

“I dunno, I heard it wasn’t official till the couple _consummated_ their relationship…” Q smirked at Sal and waggled his eyebrows.

His response caught Sal so off guard that he burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that he was bent double over the table, tears in his eyes. He could hear Q chuckling too, and found himself wondering what everyone in the room thought of them. After a minute or so he calmed down, and looked up at Q, who was still laughing. “Oh my God, Quinn, you ambushed me with that one. Fuck. Anyway, I think technically it’s official as soon as they sign the legal documents. But hey - if you want, we _could_ consummate our pretend marriage?” he raised his eyebrows and smirked.

Q spat out his coffee.

******

After a short ride on the underground - which was cramped, hot and awful - and a short walk, they’d arrived at their first destination.

“Are you fuckin' _kidding_ me?” Sal was looking at the building, which said in huge bloody font on the door: _The London Dungeon_. He turned to Q. “What ridiculous part of your brain thought it would be a good idea to bring me here?”

Q looked mildly hurt. “Well, it’s not like a haunted house. It’s, like, historical. About the darker side of London.” He rubbed his nose and looked away. “I’ve been here before and it’s not really scary, it’s fun. I - I guess I thought you’d enjoy it. I’m sorry, it was stupid. We’ll go do somethin’ else.”

Sal instantly felt guilty. “No, no! It’s fine. If you say it’s not _too_ scary, then I trust you.”

Q smiled, a wide, happy grin. It was like the sun coming out. Sal couldn’t help himself; he smiled back. And, he thought as he followed the other man into the building, honestly? He would follow this guy to the end of the fucking earth if it made him happy.

******

They were in the middle of the Whitechapel Labyrinth, a badly lit, sprawling set of corridors made to look like the East End of London during the 1800s. They were walking single file, Q first, then Sal. Every so often something would make him jump, but with his friend there, it didn’t seem so bad. It was claustrophobic, and hot, and still pretty scary, but Q’s familiar  presence in front of him brought him out of the moment and grounded him a little. It was better than the fucking cornfield, where he’d had nobody except himself and his rapidly increasing terror.

Suddenly a face came out of the darkness at him and yelled something incoherent. Sal jumped and cried out in shock, and in his agitation he grabbed onto Q’s hand. He didn’t seem to mind, just clasping Sal’s hand and gently squeezing it in return. He turned his head briefly. “You okay there, buddy?” he murmured.

“Y-yeah. Just made me jump.” Sal had started feeling calmer the moment Q squeezed his hand, but now his heart rate was rising for a different reason. They were still walking, twisting and turning along the narrow passages, but their hands were still linked. “You - you want me to let go?”

“No, it’s fine.” A thumb gently stroked Sal’s hand as if affirming the reply. “Oh. Hey, I think there’s another jump scare comin’ up. I haven’t been here for a while but not much has changed so far, so just… brace yourself, bud.”

“Oh, fuck.” Sal squeezed his eyes shut and allowed the other guy to lead him. A few moments later he heard a shout and felt something whistle past his ear. He gasped, and buried his face in the back of Q's shoulder.

Q squeezed his hand, stroking calming circles with his thumb. “It’s okay, bud. That was Jack the Ripper himself, so I guess that was the last scare. You can look - there’s the end.”

Q was right - they’d reached the exit. There was some more information about Jack the Ripper, which was interesting, and then after ascending some stairs, they were back in the main building.

Sal turned to Q, and then realised they were still holding hands. Feeling a blush rise on his face, he looked at his friend, who, oddly, didn't seem like he was in any rush to let go. Crinkling his nose and smiling an odd, slightly embarrassed smile at Sal, he nodded toward their joined hands. “I wouldn't mind holdin’ your hand all day, bud, but it might get a little inconvenient.”

Sal let go quickly, blushing even more deeply at the sound of Q’s warm, husky laughter. He cleared his throat to hide his embarrassment. “Uhh… that wasn't so bad. The history parts were fun. I wouldn't have been able to do it if you weren't there, though.” He _had_ enjoyed himself in the end, although it had more to do with the fact that he’d been so close to Q the whole time than anything else.

“Bullshit. You went through the cornfield on your own,” Q pointed out.

They walked out of the main exit, onto the busy path outside. “That was different. I _had_ to. It was a punishment.”

Q looked at him, fondness and something close to admiration evident in his eyes. “But you still did it, alone, even though you didn't want to. That’s fuckin’ _brave_ , man.”

Sal had no idea what to say. Brian Quinn, the _firefighter_ , who had saved _lives…_ thought he was brave? He suddenly thought he might drown in his love for the guy. Not trusting himself to say too much, he simply managed a choked “...thanks, Q” and left it at that.

Q seemed to realise that Sal was struggling with his emotions, because after shooting him an odd look, he changed the subject. “So, where d'you think we’re going next, Sally V?” He paused, and grinned. “Or is it Sally Q now?”

Sal laughed. “What about Sally Q-V?”

“Queen Victoria? Appropriate, given where we’ve just been.”

“Shut up, Quinn.” Sal thought for a moment. “I dunno, man. Where’re you taking me?”

“I’ll give ya three clues. First: you can spot it from here. Second, it’s really close by. Third: it’s a giant wheel.”

Sal turned around, and there it was, just a couple of minutes walk down the pathway. “The London Eye? I don't like heights, you idiot!”

Q put a hand up before he could say any more. “Look. I knew you weren't gonna like the idea. But it really is amazing. The view is fucking awesome, and it’s so stable in those things.” Sal was already wavering, and then Q spoke again, soft and reassuring. “And I’ve got you, buddy. All the way.”

Sal took a deep breath. He looked into Q’s eyes, which were sincere, his smile offering _safety, security, calm._ His best friend, the bravest, strongest person he had ever known, called _him_ brave just moments ago. So how could he not go up there and face his fear? “Okay, I’ll do it. The view had better be _really_ fuckin’ awesome, though.”

Q laughed, and they set off towards the Eye. Sal picked up the threads of the conversation. “By the way, I like my last name. Why do I have to take yours?”

Q looked at Sal for a long moment, then laughed, long and hearty. “Oh no, I’m not touchin’ that one. _‘Why do I have to take yours?’_ It’s too easy.”

“So’s your mother,” Sal retorted, earning another laugh.

“Low blow, Sal. Anyway, Sal Quinn has a nice ring to it, don't ya think? Brian Vulcano, not so much.”

Embarrassingly, Sal did think it had a nice ring to it. No way he was letting on to _that._ “Sal Quinn sounds like some kinda genital cream if you say it too fast.” They reached the huge glorified ferris wheel and joined the queue. “Why are we talking about this?”

Q’s reaction confused Sal. He looked slightly at a loss and a little defensive. “Because… because the hotel thinks we’re married, I guess. And it’s funny. I dunno, why do we talk about half the shit we discuss?”

“Got me there, bud.” Sal was stopped in his tracks as they were waved through by an attendant. It turned out that Q had managed to procure two of something called a ‘Merlin Pass’ from somewhere, which apparently allowed them free access to certain places in London, and, by the looks of what was happening here, a fuckton of privileges too.

“Forgot to use 'em at the Dungeon,” Q explained apologetically as they got onto their capsule, “this is cooler though because the passes let us have a whole pod to ourselves! These things usually have, like, twenty people in them.”

Sal was _really_ glad that he wasn't sharing with nineteen other people. With just him and Q, it was really spacious, and there were benches in the middle where he could sit down if he needed to.

Sal suddenly realised that they were ascending - although they were going so slowly, it barely felt like they were moving at all. Q was standing by the north-facing window, and Sal joined him. “This isn't so bad,” he said, hoping it would stay that way as they got further up.

Q flashed a smile at him, and squeezed his arm gently. “I knew you’d be alright.”

The ascent took fifteen minutes altogether, and looking out on the London skyline when they were at the very top, Sal had to admit that the view was pretty damn amazing. And as long as he didn't look directly down, he was fine. He turned to his right to tell Q he was right, it was great - to find the man already watching him, a soft, affectionate smile gracing his lips. Sal was thrown. “What?”

“I… I was just thinking again what a brave guy you are… comin’ up here and facing your fears like this. And not just this. You do shit that scares you _every single day_ , and I just - I think you’re fuckin' amazing.”

Sal was speechless. Meeting Q’s eyes, he shook his head slowly, hoping to communicate how he felt about what his best friend just said. The silence grew thick and tense, Q’s heartfelt words hanging there between them. Sal suddenly found it hard to breathe. Was it really hot in this capsule? And did Q seem closer all of a sudden? He was still watching him, gaze difficult to read. Finally, Sal dragged up the ability to speak from God knew where. “I… that means so fucking much comin' from you. I hope you realise that.” His voice sounded strangled and emotional.

“I do, bud. And I mean every word.” Q’s voice was a low murmur.

They were almost halfway back down now, and they were still standing at the window, staring at each other. Q seemed even closer now, almost leaning in. Sal wondered what would happen if he leaned in too…

Suddenly, the pod came to an abrupt halt, and in a split second the moment was over. Q looked at Sal for a moment, and his expression was baffling. It seemed like there were ten different emotions playing across his face, and Sal couldn’t decipher any of them. Then he turned away, walked over to the opposite window and looked down to see what was going on.

Sal, without that weird bubble encompassing him and Q that had shielded him from reality, felt panic starting to build. “What’s happening? Why did we stop? Is this supposed to happen? Are we safe?”

He sat down on the bench, feeling control slip away from him, and tried to regulate his breathing. Then he felt Q sit down next to him and slip an arm round his shoulders, squeezing gently. “It’s okay, buddy. They’re just lettin’ off someone in a wheelchair. We’ll be moving again in a few seconds.”

“You - you sure?”

“Yeah, I saw ‘em. You can come look if you want?”

“No, if I look down there it’ll make it worse. I trust you.” Sal felt a little calmer with Q sitting right next to him, rubbing circles on his back gently. And sure enough, a few moments later, they started moving again. Sal leaned his head on Q’s shoulder, feeling weak with relief. “Oh, thank God.”

They stayed that way until Sal’s breathing returned to normal, and he felt like he wouldn’t collapse if he stood. By that point they were nearly at ground level. He sat up, turning his head to smile at Q. “Thanks, man.”

“What for, bud?”

“For makin’ me do this, getting me to come up here. It was really great. And… for makin’ me feel better when I freaked out, too. Seems like you have to do that for me way too often.”

Q looked amused. “You say that like it’s a chore for me to make you happy. It’s what I’m here for, buddy - you’re my best friend.” He stood up, and the look in his eyes became serious and earnest, setting Sal’s heartbeat racing. “And besides, after all the shit I’ve put you through, all the times you’ve kept _my_ head above water? This - keeping you feelin’ safe and okay? It’s the absolute _least_ I can fucking do.”

Sal couldn’t think of any verbal response to that, so he stood too, and pulled Q into a brief, wordless hug. His friend squeezed him tightly for a few moments, then let go. Then they watched as their capsule reached the bottom, and stepped off as the door opened. He felt relieved to be back on solid ground again, but still, it was an experience he was glad to have had - especially with Q. They walked a short distance from the Eye. “So what’s next on the agenda? A cat sanctuary?” Sal asked, only half joking.

“Unfortunately, no. I spend all my time wanting to adopt every single one of those little fuckers, so we’re giving it a miss this time, pal.” As much as Sal hated cats, he still loved it whenever Q talked about them. It was the way his whole face lit up, his eyes all happy and content. Sal had to admit to himself that he was a little jealous. Selfishly, he wished that the other guy would look at _him_ like that. “Actually, it’s getting late, so I thought we could find somewhere to eat and get ready for the show. I know somewhere we can get a great burger.”

“Sounds like a plan.” They started walking.

******

A little later on, they were back in their room. Sal had suggested after they ate that they rest a little before their show that evening, and Q had agreed. Thus they were lounging on the sofa, watching TV.

“You know, once you get used to the confusin' accents, this show is pretty decent.” Q had finally convinced him to try watching _Sherlock_ again, and he had to admit to himself that he was really enjoying it.

Q smiled, his expression smug. “Told ya. You should see the last episode of this season - fuckin’ cliffhanger, man. And the last episode of the second season? Cried my eyes out.”

“Stop telling me! I wanna find out for myself.” Sal hated anything even approaching spoilers. They watched in silence for a while, before Sal realised something. “Hold up - these two just met, they moved in together, are solving _crime_ together within, like a day, and they look at each other like _that_? No way they’re not totally gay for each other.”

“It gets even more obvious, bud. And by the way, the arguments about whether they are or aren't are _fierce_.”

Sal was confused. “People think they _aren't_? They look ready to jump each other. Look - John just fucking _killed_ a guy for Sherlock!”

Q shrugged. “People can't see what’s right in front of their faces sometimes.”

He looked at Sal, who had a sudden flashback to their strange moment on the London Eye, forgotten until now in the wake of his panic attack. What the fuck had happened there? What had been about to happen? What if they’d never been interrupted? Sal couldn't understand any of it. Most likely he was imagining the tension between them. He was glad they’d been interrupted because if Sal had kissed Q, his best friend would probably be confused and upset at best, and disgusted at worst. Either way nothing would be the same between them, and Sal would take a lifetime of heartache and unrequited love, if it meant he could keep his best friend at his side. He would take what love Q was able to give, and he would cherish it, even if it wasn't the kind of love Sal yearned for.

He was brought suddenly out of his musings by a poke in his ribs. Q was watching him, one eyebrow raised. “‘Sup, buddy? You were miles away just now.”

Sal made up a lie quickly, hoping the other guy wouldn't see right through him. “I… uhh, I was thinking about the cool stuff we did today. Seriously, it really wouldn't have been as awesome without you there.”

Q looked momentarily sceptical, but at those last words, broke into a smile. “My pleasure, bud. I had fun too.” He looked at his watch. “Shit, we need to get ready. You gonna use the shower?”

Half an hour later, they left for the theatre.

******

The show was a massive success. An hour or so afterwards, after spending time talking with the fans, they were headed back to their hotel in a cab. Sal was still feeling the high from performing, and he could tell just by looking at Q that he was as well. The guy’s deep brown eyes were sparkling, his grin wide and pleased. Sal loved to watch him when he looked like this - it made him happy when Q was happy. He nudged him. “You look pretty pleased with yourself, bud.”

“Pleased with you _and_ me, man. Tonight was amazin’, and you know it took both of us to be here.” Q looked across at him, his gaze intense and smile warm.

Sal’s heart sped up - whenever his friend looked at him like that, with his full attention and affection, it felt like he was the only person in the world. It felt like he was _special_ to Q, someone who couldn't be replaced, and Sal couldn't get enough of feeling like that. He found himself blushing slightly under the other man’s regard. “Well, we still got another show to do tomorrow, so hopefully it’ll go amazing then too.”

Q replied gently, giving a half-shrug. “However the show goes tomorrow, it’ll still be great, cos I did it with you, Sal.” He looked embarrassed, and looked away, but Sal felt something in his chest squeeze at the tender way he’d said those words. He must have wanted to deflect from it though, because a few moments later: “ _Nugget think show go terribly. Too much laughing. Not enough screaming. Tomorrow more maimings, yes?”_

Sal laughed. “ _Nugget disappointed. Assumed premise of show was Q and Sal fighting to death.”_

Q picked up the ball and ran with it. _“Still,”_ he added in an ominous tone, _“If no death tomorrow, Nugget still here. Still watching. Still waiting.”_

He said the last few sentences with such menace, so at odds with the mischievous grin on his face, that Sal collapsed sideways into him, laughing helplessly. He grabbed Q’s arm and turned his face into his shoulder as he tried to get his breath back, feeling the other guy shaking with laughter too. It was these moments that he lived for - the times where Q made him laugh so hard that he couldn't even breathe, couldn't move, and where he was able to make his best friend laugh until he cried. It was in these moments where he felt most at peace with the world, felt most able to let go of his fears and anxieties. Q allowed him to let himself lose control a little, and the feeling was _wonderful_.

They were still laughing when they got back to the room, the conversation having deteriorated into simply bumping into each other and doing stupid impressions. Once they got in, Sal went to take a shower, reflecting on how different the atmosphere was tonight compared to last night. It had been awkward, uncertain on Sal’s part. Tonight it was easy and natural, as though something had changed between them, and they’d had to rediscover how they fit together. Sal could only think of one thing that it could have been, and that was his revelation - but he didn't think Q had any idea, the guy was fucking oblivious to people’s feelings for him - so why would it come between them like that?

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a muffled, inaudible voice through the door. “What? I can't hear you.”

“I _said,_ ” Q raised his voice, “I’m _hungry_. Can we order pizza?”

Sal was done, so he got out of the shower, pulled a towel around himself and opened the door. Q jumped. He’d been leaning so close to the door that he was inadvertently in Sal’s space, and Sal stepped back a little, overly aware of the fact that he was mostly naked and dripping wet. He tried to make a joke to cover the awkward situation. “Wow, Quinn. At least buy me dinner before you start hittin' on me when I’m naked.”

Q had a weird, slightly strained look on his face. He was blushing. Sal rationalised that it was probably because he’d just made him jump a mile. Then his expression turned borderline lecherous. “Okay, first off? I bought you dinner last night. So I guess I can hit on you all I like, bud. Second, you smell like coconut. Is that new shampoo? It’s _really_ good. And finally, I dunno whether you heard me, but I really want pizza. Can we order in?”

Sal felt a little flustered. There were three different subjects there, two of which he had no idea how the fuck to answer. They’d always had a kind of open season on outrageous flirting, but there was something… defiant… about the way Q had declared that he was gonna hit on Sal as much as he wanted. It had always been unspoken, an undercurrent, but now his friend had mentioned it, it felt weighty and significant. It didn't help that Sal wasn't wearing any fucking clothes. And Q had noticed how he _smelled_? And told him he smelled _good_? It was all way too confusing, and the other man was staring at him, one eyebrow raised, so he chose to just focus on the last question. “Uhh… pizza. Yeah, sounds great. I’m pretty hungry.” He looked down at himself. “Just - just order whatever, yeah? I’m gonna finish up in here.”

Q pouted. “Aww, and here I thought you were gonna be hanging around lookin’ like that for the rest of the night.” Then he winked.

Sal shut the door on him, blushing furiously.

******

After watching more _Sherlock_ , and eating a pizza between them, Q and Sal finally decided to call it a night and go to bed. One o’clock saw them sitting in bed, reading in companionable silence, which Sal thought was _really_ fucking domestic. Maybe Q hadn’t been too wide of the mark with the whole Bert and Ernie thing. It felt… right, somehow, though. Sal knew better than to hope it meant much to Q - not in _that_ way - but he had a weird feeling that _some_ kinda step had been taken in their friendship. He just had no idea what.

He glanced up surreptitiously from his book at Q, who was deeply absorbed in his reading. He looked fucking _adorable_ , and Sal’s heart fluttered. His knees were drawn up to his chest, one hand holding his book and the other propping his chin up. His eyes were intent and focused, and he was biting his lip slightly. It was all Sal could do to stop himself from ripping the book out of his hands and biting his damn lip _for_ him. He resisted, just barely, and tried to go back to reading. A few moments later he realised how sleepy he was. “God, Q. I’m really tired all of a sudden. I think I’m gonna go to sleep.”

“Okay then, buddy. Sleep tight.” Q looked sideways at Sal and smiled, making as though to put his book away.

“No, carry on. I don't mind.” Sal turned the lamp on his side off as the other guy found his chapter again, and lay down. “Night, Q.”

The last thing he heard before he drifted off was an affectionate “sweet dreams, bud”.

******

Something startled Sal awake the next morning. He opened his eyes to find himself inches away from Q, their foreheads almost touching. At first, he assumed that was what had woken him, but then he noticed the distressed expression on his friend’s face. He’d curled up tightly in on himself, his arms drawn up defensively, and his breathing was rapid and shallow, his shoulders rising and falling at an alarming pace.

Sal watched him closely. The man was mumbling in his sleep, stuff he couldn't make out, but he judged by the tone of his voice - upset and hurt, almost pleading - that something really bad was going down in his dreams. Then Sal’s heart broke as Q gave a hitched sob, his face crumpling in response to whatever was going on in his nightmare. He spoke, clear enough to understand. “No - please - come back…”

Sal couldn't take any more. He sat up and placed his hand on Q’s cheek, stroking it gently. “Hey. Bri, sweetie.” Q stirred. His eyes fluttered, then opened fully. “Shh, it’s okay. You were dreaming. It’s okay now.”

Q, still half asleep, looked shocked and confused. He looked up at Sal, and his eyes widened even more. Tears were still on his face. “ _Sal?_ ”

Sal wondered what he’d been dreaming about for him to get this reaction. “You were having a nightmare. It was bad, by the sounds of it, but it’s alright. It’s over now.”

“I - oh, God.” Q was obviously still shaken, because he lifted his hand to cover Sal’s, still resting on his cheek. Then he dropped it, and sat up, blushing and avoiding eye contact. “This is so fuckin’ embarrassing. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Don't be so stupid,” Sal chided gently, “it’s what I’m here for. I’m glad I was here so I could bring you out of it.”

Q seemed a little calmer now, his breathing close to normal. “I guess so. Thanks, buddy.”

“Any time, pal. You wanna tell me what it was about?” Sal was curious, but tried to ask in a way that seemed like he _wasn’t_ prying.

Q got out of bed, turning away from Sal. “Uhh. I don't remember any of it now.”

His voice sounded oddly flat, and Sal recognised it as the tone he took when he was lying. He dropped the subject, although he wondered why Q would lie to him. Did he dream about someone specific, maybe someone he had really strong feelings for? He suddenly felt jealousy wrench at him as he considered the possibilities, and then realised with a jolt that the feeling was disturbingly familiar - he’d felt it every time Q got a new girlfriend, every time he got close to someone else. He’d just been pushing it down, explaining it away as shit like him wanting what the other man had. This felt _worse_ somehow - that he’d been unknowingly coveting his best friend for years? He should be fucking happy for him, not angry and hurt and afraid. Abruptly, he felt disgusted with himself, unworthy. He watched as Q walked wordlessly into the bathroom, then lay back down, hiding his head under the covers to block out the world.

******

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Both of them got their food and sat down, then started eating, with the occasional interjection from one or the other. Sal felt uneasy - what the fuck was going on? What had happened to the easy, natural banter from yesterday, the flirting? Was it his fault? Was Q mad at him for asking about the dream? He decided to make an attempt at clearing the air. “So, uhh, we’ve got some fun shit planned for today, huh? The Science Museum, and… what was that other one?”

“Victoria and Albert Museum - the V&A.” Q looked up from his food and gave Sal a small smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Should be pretty awesome, bud.”

“They sound great. I can’t wait for the science one.” Sal still wasn’t getting any meaningful response, so he changed tack, leaning forward and smiling. “Y’know, they’re still callin’ me Mr. Quinn. I’m getting kinda used to it - maybe I should keep it when we get back to New York.”

He’d definitely expected more of a reaction to that ridiculously unsubtle attempt at flirting - a response along the lines of “you proposin’ to me, bud?”, perhaps. Instead, Q looked up at him, his eyes wide and uncertain. He seemed unsure what to say. “Uhh... I like Vulcano. Maybe it’d be better if you kept it.”

Sal felt incredibly hurt. He tried not to - after all, he’d been joking - but he couldn't help it. And Q usually flirted back, too. What had Sal done? Why did this keep happening? All this confusing bullshit where one day they were okay and the next it was like they barely knew each other. Panic rose in his throat and almost choked him, as he started worrying if they would ever be back to normal. How could they, when he didn't even know what was wrong?

Q had obviously realised something was up, because he seemed to have snapped out of his odd melancholy, and was now looking across at Sal with concern in his deep brown eyes. “You okay, buddy? You seem real anxious.”

Sal rose abruptly, making Q jump and almost upsetting the table. He was sweating and shaking, and his stomach was churning. Suddenly, everything - the noise of people talking, the smell of food and coffee, and Q’s unbearable worried gaze - was too much, and he couldn't breathe. If he stayed here any longer he was either gonna pass out or throw up. “I - I gotta go.” Then he fled, ignoring Q’s shouts after him.

******

Back in their room, in a quiet, familiar environment, Sal felt slightly calmer, although whenever he thought of his and Q’s friendship, panic gripped him all over again. He tried to take deep, even breaths. Then just minutes after he’d run away, he heard the door open and felt any control he’d managed to regain slip away from him. He squeezed his eyes shut as he began shaking, his breathing all over the fucking place again. He couldn't help himself - as much as it was his confusion about Q causing this, he needed his best friend right now. He called out, hating how weak he sounded. “Q? I’m - I’m here.”

He looked up as Q crossed the room swiftly, and knelt down in front of him, taking his hand and stroking it gently with his thumb. “ _Fuck_ , Sal,” he sighed, concern etched in the lines of his brow and written plain to read in his eyes, “why didn't you just _tell_ me?”

“I - I couldn't. I had to get outta there.” Despite the very cause of his panic attack kneeling right in front of him, he felt a little more grounded by Q’s presence. The soothing repetitive motions of his friend’s thumb on his hand helped him focus on his breathing, and for a while they sat in silence, with the occasional soft interjection from Q to keep Sal with him. Finally, after what felt like hours, his breathing began to calm and he felt his shaking subside, and it was like the end of a storm. He felt drained, and angry at himself. “Oh, God. This has to be the worst fucking time for this to happen. What a fucking asshole.”

Q moved to sit on the sofa next to him. “Sal, you can't choose when you have a panic attack. It’s not your fault, buddy.” He put his arm around Sal, drawing him into a hug. “What happened?”

Sal didn't know how to answer. He sure as fuck wasn't gonna say ‘ _Oh, well two days ago I realised I’m in love with you and now I think I fucked up somehow because of it_ ’. Instead, he made something up. “I don't know. It just came outta nowhere.” Great. Now they were both lying to each other.

“Shit, Sal. You gonna be okay today? We can stay in and rest if you want?”

Sal met Q’s eyes, and the tenderness and sincerity he found there took his breath away. But he wouldn't drag his best friend down, wouldn't make this a shitty vacation for him. He smiled, somehow finding something genuine within him. “No, it’s fine. We’ll go out, and I’ll be okay. Besides, I’m looking forward to goin’ to the museums with you.”

Q returned the smile, although Sal thought that there was something almost sad about it, almost wistful. “Okay then. Let’s go, bud.”

******

The Science Museum was busy and vibrant, full of kids on school trips, and students and young couples passing time. The moment they walked in, Q was like a kid in a candy store, practically vibrating with excitement. “So where should we go first? There’s the explorin' space gallery - that’s on this floor, over there. Or we can go see science in the 18th century, on the third floor, or - oh, cosmos and culture sounds cool, we could-”

Sal laughed. “We haven't got all day, bud. But I like the look of those history of medicine ones, on the fifth and fourth floors.” He leaned in to look at the map. “Why don't we do it from the bottom?”

He expected Q to come back with a flirtatious remark. The guy had been quiet on the underground, but once they arrived at the museum he perked up a lot, and Sal wondered if maybe everything could be back to normal soon. Instead, he just looked at Sal and smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

Sal’s heart sank. He felt more certain than ever that he’d truly fucked up their relationship somehow by realising how he felt about Q. He couldn't even feel anxious about it any more - it was like all of the anxiety had been sucked out of him, only to be replaced by thick, choking despair. He didn't know which he preferred. He spoke, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his voice. “Let’s get started then, buddy.”

As they wandered through the galleries and exhibits, they didn't have a lot of opportunity to talk, because it was so busy, although Q would stop and play with the hands-on demonstrations meant for kids, and encouraged Sal to do the same. “It’s fun! C’mon, Sal, it’s a real replica of the Apollo 11 controls!”

“How many kids d’you think have touched that thing today? I’ll pass, thanks.” Sal was happy just watching Q enjoy himself, anyway.

“Aha, I thought you might say that.” Q, smiling, reached into his hoodie pocket and produced a little packet of antiseptic wipes. Pulling one out, he wiped down the replica controls, then gestured towards them. “There ya go, bud.”

Sal was deeply touched. It was such a small, throwaway gesture - Q had probably never even thought twice about it - but it helped to put his mind at rest, and that meant more to him than he could ever say. He moved to touch the display, messing with buttons and levers. “...Thanks, buddy.”

“Any time, pal.” Q was looking at him, fondness evident in his eyes and in his cute little half smile. Sal’s stomach flipped as he gazed back. Then something changed in the other man’s face. It was as though a switch flipped, and Q’s expression suddenly went from warm and open to closed off and totally unreadable. “You wanted to see the history of medicine exhibits, right? We don't got much time left, so let’s go look.”

Sal tried - and failed - to hide his confusion. “Oh. Uh, okay. Let’s go then, bud.” _What the fuck just happened?_ He was getting frustrated now, and as they headed towards the next galleries, he felt a spark of resentment, which he guiltily tried to suppress. Hating himself for feeling this way about his best friend, hating that he couldn't control what was going on, he focused on the exhibit, trying to put it out of his mind. Five minutes later, though, he was still thinking about it. He became overly conscious of Q, who currently seemed absorbed in reading an information panel near a gross looking bone saw, about surgery in the 1800s. His expression was still impossible to read, which was what worried Sal almost more than anything else, because the guy was generally an open book. _God, what a mess._

“You’re tellin’ me that in an infinite universe, you don't think it’s possible that aliens could exist?” They had eventually left, starting for the V&A, and were now discussing the exhibits. Q was insistent that Sal accept the potential existence of aliens.

“I’m not sayin’ I don't think it’s possible, I’m just _sayin’_ that I gotta see it to believe it.”

Q laughed. “Alright, Agent Scully.”

Sal didn't trust this lull in the awkward tension that had developed today - he knew that the moment he started getting used to the flirting and banter again, the rug would be pulled from under him and he’d be lost and confused all over again. Still, he couldn't help himself. “I guess that makes you Mulder, then.” he deadpanned.

“Crazy conspiracy theories? Authority issues? Hot partner? Sounds about right.”

Sal was momentarily thrown. “Hot - what - _oh.”_ He blushed deeply, and cast a surreptitious side glance at Q, who was examining the ground like he’d just discovered extraterrestrial life right there on the sidewalk. _Q thinks I’m hot?_ Sal was bewildered. Was he just saying that as a joke? Why was he sending so many mixed messages? He remembered again their odd, intimate moment on the London Eye the day before, and wondered what would have happened if he’d kissed Q right there. He wondered, as well, what had gone wrong, and felt helpless and angry again at this ridiculous fucking _wall_ that had grown between them. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “So… where’s the V &A?”

Q looked up and pointed. “It’s just round the corner over there. I thought we could go get food first, though.”

“Sounds good, buddy.”

******

After Q and Sal had eaten, they headed to the V&A. It had an interesting variety of collections. They wandered around, taking in artwork and exhibits, and there was little conversation, which Sal almost preferred - it was better than them being okay one minute and awkward the next. It still felt like even more of a step down, though - like there’d been so much of a breakdown in communication between them that neither of them had the energy to talk to each other any more. Q seemed even more withdrawn than he had in the Science Museum too - aside from pointing out an interesting artefact or painting every so often, he talked little, and his body language screamed _don't look at me_ \- shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets, head down for the most part. Sal felt so fragile inside, and part of him wanted to lie down right in the middle of the fucking architecture exhibit, wrap his arms around himself and cry. His thoughts went to the show later on, and he hoped to fuck that whatever was going on didn't affect their performance.

They made their way around the museum, but although it was interesting and fun, Sal’s heart wasn't in it. He looked at his watch, and luckily it was time for them to go back and get ready. He touched Q gently on the arm. “Hey, bud?”

His best friend jumped as if he’d been burnt. “Shit! Sorry, you made me jump. ‘Sup?”

“Uh, it’s getting late. I think we should head back to the hotel.” He smiled at Q, hoping it would hide how upset and troubled he was.

“Oh. Oh yeah. Okay, man, let’s go.” Q smiled back, but Sal could see it was just as fake as his own.

They started walking towards the exit.

******

The show had gone well. Very well, even. Sal was glad that neither he nor Q had let whatever personal shit they had going on get in the way. Still, there had been issues. The atmosphere between them had felt tense, in a way that the audience wouldn't have been able to pick up on. More than once, a jibe aimed at Sal came off a little too sharp, and Sal admitted guiltily to himself that he had done the same.

They were in the cab on the way back to the hotel, and in complete contrast to the elated feeling they’d both had yesterday after the performance, the general mood was a deflated one. They’d spent an hour with their fans, and Sal had managed to put everything to the back of his mind for a while - laughing and engaging with their supporters was always fun - but now, in the quiet of the cab, it was all rushing back to the forefront again.

Q was staring out of the window, a small frown on his face. Sal wanted to say something to break the tension, _anything_ , but the longer the silence stretched, the harder it was to open his mouth and talk. He just sat and watched the other man, knowing but not caring that if Q turned around and looked at him right now, Sal’s entire heart would be written on his face for his friend to read.

Eventually he sighed and turned to look out of his window, feeling that now-familiar mix of resentment and frustration bubble up inside him. By the time they got to the room, it had filled up so much of him that he couldn't speak - he was afraid he’d cry, or shout, or say something he’d never stop regretting.

He gathered his pyjamas and wash stuff, then walked into the bathroom to shower, noting as he went that Q was sitting on the sofa, flicking aimlessly through some brochure. His shower was as short as he could make it - he didn't want to spend any more time awake if he could help it. When he walked out of the bathroom, Q was in the same position he was before, still looking at the same leaflet. Suddenly, something snapped inside Sal’s head - out of all the moments it could have been today, God knew why it was this one - and he strode over to the other man. “Okay. That’s it. What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

Q looked up, surprise all over his face. “What?”

“You _know_ what. You've been fucking weird all day, I can't even talk to you without you getting all… _shut off_ from me. I can't stand it any more. So what the fuck is wrong?”

Sal sounded angrier than he meant to, but then, he'd never meant to say anything in the first place. That closed expression appeared on Q’s face again, and he looked away. “Nothin’. I’m fine. Just - just leave me alone, alright, Sal?”

That response only inflamed Sal’s temper more. “Oh my God! Fuck! You _know_ I know when you’re lyin’ to me, Quinn, and you’ve been fucking doing it all day! And whatever is going on with you is coming between us, so _no,_ I won't leave you alone. Not until you tell me the truth.”

“ _You_ wanna talk about lyin’?” Q rose abruptly, his expression angry and hurt, “Lemme tell you this, _bud -_ I can tell when _you’re_ lyin’ too, and whatever caused that panic attack earlier, you didn't wanna tell me about it. So before you come to _me_ talkin’ about lyin’ and lettin’ things come between us, maybe you should take a good hard look at yourself first!”

Sal was taken aback. “That - that’s not fair! You…” For a second he had no words. Then he truly saw red. “It’s not _my_ fucking fault that I have anxiety. What, you want me to call you out on your depression next? Your weird fuckin' behaviour? How about the fact that aside from the show you’ve barely said a word to me all day? You’ve been so hot and cold with me the last two days that I can't bear it any more! _I can't even fucking stand to be around you any more!”_

In the wake of Sal’s words, they both stood there, breathing heavily, and Sal almost immediately regretted yelling what he did. Q’s eyes were wide and hurt, his mouth in a sad, distressed twist. He spoke, his breathing coming in dry half-sobs, and his voice was so quiet, so defeated, that Sal’s heart broke. “Okay. Okay. That’s fair. I guess I shoulda - shoulda expected that. Well, I-if you can't be around me right now, I’ll go.” He turned quickly, picking up his bag, and opened the door.

Sal reached out a hand. “No… Q… wait -” he called out, tears filling his eyes. But it was too late. Q had gone, leaving nothing but those awful, damaging words Sal had said. He was brought back again to that argument they had in high school. This was much worse. They were _adults_ now, for fuck's sake! Q was ... _had been..._ his best friend, and he’d trusted Sal not to use his bad experiences and insecurities against him in arguments. And what had he said? _I can't stand to be around you._ Sal closed his eyes and took a helpless, shuddering breath, tears falling fast, as he recalled the devastated, betrayed look on his best friend’s face. Walking to the bed, he lay down on Q’s side, burying his face into the pillow, and cried out all of his fear, his frustration, his self-loathing, every ragged breath he drew a painful reminder in his chest of what he’d just lost. He cried until he had no energy left to cry any more, and when he’d finished crying, he just lay there, inhaling Q’s scent from his pillow and feeling his chest squeeze painfully.

About an hour passed, and Sal came out of a guilt-ridden lethargy. Checking the clock on the side table, he realised how much time had passed, and anxiety turned his stomach as he realised he had _no fucking idea_ where Q was. Getting up, he grabbed his phone and dialled Q’s number. “C’mon, pick up,” he mumbled. It went to voicemail. “Q… Brian. _God_... if you get this, please call back. I - I’m so fucking sorry, buddy, I never meant to say those things. I didn't mean any of it. Please, _please_ come back so we can talk about it.”

He tried again, five, six, seven more times, leaving messages of an increasingly frantic tone. Eventually he gave up, and, his phone still in his hand, began pacing up and down the room. Where could he be? Where was there to go in Central London after midnight? His mind raced. Bars or clubs seemed most likely. But... what if he was somewhere else? What if… _no._ He refused to think about it. If he considered it as an option even for a second, he’d fucking lose it for good.

Pacing was doing nothing except wearing holes in the floor, so he sat on the sofa, knees drawn up to his chest. He kept a constant eye on his phone. Two more hours passed, although to Sal it felt like an eternity. Sometime after two o’clock, Sal had called Q five more times, still with no answer, and an all-consuming fear had begun to envelop him. He had gotten to such a point of desperation by now that he couldn't stay in any longer - he didn't know where he was gonna go, where he would start looking, but he had to fucking do _something_. He got his jacket, slipped his shoes on and opened the door - only to find Q standing on the other side, shoulders slumped, eyes unfocused and sad. He raised his eyes to meet Sal’s. “I… I got your messages.”

His voice sounded slurred, and Sal realised he was drunk. He suppressed his first instinct, which was to yell at him out of concern. Instead, he ushered the other guy in, closing the door behind them, and then pulled him into a tight hug. His heart was pounding. “ _God_ , Q,” he breathed, relief and guilt making a nauseating mixture inside him, “where did you go? I was so worried.”

Q didn't move, but Sal felt him huff out a bitter laugh. “I got drunk.”

Sal wanted to hold him closer, to never let him go, but he knew they needed to talk. He drew back, noting with shame the redness around Q’s eyes, the way his hands were shaking. Sal stilled them with his own and led him to the sofa. “C'mon. I’ll get you some water.”

Once they were both on the sofa, Q sipping his water, Sal took his hand. “Brian… I know you have every right to be hurt and angry and to hate me after what I said earlier, and it - it's okay if you can't forgive me, but I - I gotta apologise.” Q just gazed at him, a cautious, guarded look on his face. Sal felt tears coming to his eyes. “I’m so fucking _sorry_ , buddy. I can’t even tell you. What I said - I will never forgive myself for it, as long as I live, because I hurt - I hurt the one person I…” he trailed off, letting out a sob, and a tear fell down his cheek.

“...I forgive you.”

It was said so quietly that Sal barely caught it. “W-what?”

Q looked at him, steadier and more sober than he had been before. “I forgive you. I - _fuck_ , Sal, how can I not? You're my best fuckin’ friend in the whole world. And you were right. No, don't argue. I _was_ lyin’ to you and avoiding talkin’ to you, and it _was_ coming between us. So - so I’m sorry too, buddy. I really fucking am.”

Sal blew out a shaky breath, trying to stop more tears falling. “I guess we both sucked today, huh?” He studied his best friend’s face and saw a tiny smile there, a familiar tenderness in his eyes. It was so endearing, and felt so like the beginning of the end of all this shit, that Sal leaned forward and hugged him, feeling safe and secure when Q wrapped his arms round him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, “what a mess we got ourselves in. How did this happen?”

For a while, the only noise was the sound of their breathing. Then Q spoke up hesitantly. “I… had a nightmare. About you. I dreamed that I told you… somethin'… and - and you hated me.” His breathing became laboured, and Sal could tell he was crying. He stroked his hair gently, and Q carried on, his voice thick. “You - you told me I was disgustin', and why would anyone ever… and then you wouldn't talk to me. You just walked away from me, Sal, and I was so afraid to lose you in real life that I - I didn't know what to _do_. So I... I pushed you away...” He stopped talking then. He buried his face into Sal’s shoulder, shaking with silent sobs, holding on so tight that it almost hurt.

Sal cried with him, _for_ him. Rubbing slow circles on his back to soothe him, he murmured into his ear, low repetitive words, “It’s okay. I’ve got you, I’m here. I will _never_ leave you.” It was just as comforting for Sal as it was for Q, and eventually, the tears stopped.

Q gave one last sigh, and relaxed against Sal. They stayed that way for long moments, before Sal drew back a little to regard his best friend. He wiped Q’s tears away, pushed his hair out of his face, then dropped a long, lingering kiss on his forehead. “Y’know,” he half-whispered against Q’s head, taking in the clean scent of his hair, “I’m just as afraid to lose you, Bri.”

“You are?” Q sounded so vulnerable, so _scared._ Sal’s heart hurt.

“Yeah, buddy. I’ve always been afraid. That panic attack wasn’t some random shit, it was cos I thought we were falling apart. I - you mean so much to me.” Sal paused and closed his eyes, gathering his courage, then carried on, feeling like his next question was the most significant one of his entire life. “What… what did you say to me? In the dream?”

The other man’s arms tightened around Sal, and he didn’t speak for a long time. When he did, it was in the smallest whisper, so quiet that Sal had to hold his breath to hear it. “I told you I love you.”

Hope flared up inside Sal, warming him through and setting his heart thumping. “And… and do you? In real life?”

Q pulled out of the hug to look at Sal, and the expression on his face was one of such tenderness, such helpless affection that Sal was no longer in any doubt. He smiled, almost shyly. “Do you really gotta ask?”

Sal shook his head. He could barely speak. “...No. I don’t. I already know.” A laugh bubbled up inside him as he leaned in. “I shoulda done this two fucking days ago. Brian, I love you too. I fucking _adore_ you. And I promise you, I will spend the rest of my life makin’ you forget about that dream.” Their lips met, and as he kissed his best friend, his _love_ , Sal forgot all the ridiculous awkward shit that had happened in the last few days, all the horrible words and the tears shed - all there was right now, all he needed, was Brian Quinn. He had thought many times over recent years about how this moment might happen, and even more frequently over the last few days. He'd imagined it so many different ways - maybe it would have happened during a challenge? Perhaps at a party, the both of them having had a little too much to drink? This, though, this was it, this was _real,_ and every single one of those fantasies was pale and insubstantial in comparison. Q's mouth was solid and warm and _alive_ on Sal's, and his kisses were like the first hint of spring - full of hope and promise, a wordless, euphoric affirmation that nothing would ever be the same between them again - and Sal couldn't be more fine with that.

Q kissed intuitively, like he knew _exactly_ what Sal loved and needed. Switching one moment to the next from soft and chaste to hard and passionate - and back again - he cupped the back of Sal’s neck and bit gently at his bottom lip. Sal shivered, moving his hands to entwine in the other man’s hair, kissing back with all the pent up love and adoration he’d felt over the years. He lost himself in his best friend then, gave himself over to the sensations and emotions of the moment, and for a long time he stopped thinking. His normally _unbearably_ overactive mind was blissfully clear.

Eventually Q broke the kiss, looking flushed, which put Sal in mind of overhearing him in the shower on their first night there. His eyes were dark and heavy with unmistakeable arousal, and before Sal could attempt to voice his disapproval at the broken contact, he pushed him down onto his back, straddling him, and began leaving a trail of messy kisses down his jawline, and then started nipping and sucking at his neck. Sal groaned, feeling a warm tension start to form in the pit of his stomach. Then common sense made an unfortunate reappearance. “Bri - _fuck, that’s -_ wait…”

Q detached himself from Sal’s neck, pouting. “Huh? What’s wrong?”

“God… We - it’s nearly three in the morning, buddy. We gotta sleep or we’ll miss checkout at eleven,” Sal replied, already having regrets.

The other man sighed, lowering his head to rest it on Sal’s chest. “Okay. Let’s go to bed.” Then he raised his head and laughed. “We got all the time in the world to do this, anyway.”

******

When Sal awoke about five hours later, he didn’t immediately remember the events of the night before. But as he woke up and his grogginess cleared, he became aware of a soft, warm body cuddled up behind him, an arm settled over his waist protectively. Then everything flooded back: the tense awkwardness of the previous day, the furious argument… and then the calm after the storm, the heartfelt declarations, the moment _everything_ changed. If it wasn’t for the proof nestled into the lines of his body, Sal would have thought it was a dream.

He lay there for a while, listening to Q’s breathing - a slow, serene rise-and-fall, which, as he began to wake up, became quieter and a little shallower. Eventually, when he judged that his best friend was fully awake, Sal turned over to face him, smiling at how damn _irresistible_ he looked when he’d been asleep. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Q looked tired, but more content than he had looked in a painfully long time. He had a soft, shy smile on his face, and the depths of love that could be read there - his eyes, all liquid and puppyish, were so _full_ of it - left Sal breathless. Still smiling, he lifted a hand and softly, almost tentatively, cupped Sal’s cheek. He let out a tiny laugh. “Huh. I guess this really _is_ real.” Then, with those murmured, slightly awestruck words, Q leaned forward and kissed him. It was gentle, chaste and sweet, and Sal’s stomach fluttered, his heart speeding up as he kissed back. It all still felt so strange, so _new,_ and a small voice in the back of his head still wondered if it was really happening. He thought he would never stop feeling fucking blown away at his luck.

For long minutes they simply lay there, their kisses languid, unhurried. Then Q increased the pace a little, deepening the kiss. His hand moved to Sal’s hip to pull them closer together, and then to his ass, stroking and squeezing gently. Something in Sal’s stomach tightened, and he felt himself starting to get hard. Q had evidently noticed, because he ended the kiss and pulled back a little, smirking. “Glad you’re enjoyin’ yourself, bud.”

Sal laughed. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Oh no, my friend,” the other man replied, a challenge in his eyes, “I suspect the only person I will be fucking is _you.”_

Sal couldn't help it - he made a high-pitched little noise in the back of his throat. Q laughed affectionately, and kissed him again, deep and hard and passionate. At the same time, he ground their crotches together and let out a low groan, and Sal gasped as the other guy’s erection rubbed against his own. “ _Shit, …_ that’s…”

Q sat up suddenly, throwing off the covers and pulling his pyjama shirt off, then his bottoms, leaving him totally naked. “ _Fuck_ , you’re… can - can I…?” Bottom lip caught between his teeth, his hand moved to the waistband of Sal’s pyjamas, fingers toying with the material there. He looked him up and down, expression intense and heavy with longing.

Sal felt himself blush - Q was fucking _gorgeous._ They’d seen each other naked before, but _God,_ this was so different. The man kneeling in front of him - hard as a fucking _rock -_ looking down at him with eyes that were simultaneously soft with love and fierce with want, was the most breathtaking thing Sal thought he’d ever seen.

He nodded his permission, feeling oddly shy, and Q’s face lit up. He helped pull Sal up to face him, kissing him again as his hands worked to tug down his pyjama bottoms, then his top. Once they were off, thrown aside and forgotten, he gently pushed him down again and gazed at him for a few moments. “God, you’re beautiful. You don't even know it.” he murmured, almost reverently.

Sal felt a mix of emotions assail him suddenly. He felt astounded that Q would think he was _beautiful._ He felt self conscious under his best friend’s intense stare. And most of all, he felt like he could actually burn up with desire at any moment. So he reached up to Q, grabbing his waist with both hands and pulling him down to lie on top of him. “ _I’m_ beautiful?” he whispered, then, between kisses, “God, if you could see yourself the way I see you, Brian. You are fucking _magnificent.”_

Q didn't reply - seeming tongue tied, he simply did that bashful little half-smile and shook his head a little. Then his expression grew mischievous and, bending his head down to pepper kisses on Sal’s neck, he rolled his hips against Sal’s, grinding their cocks together. He let out a muffled groan.

“F-fuck!” Pleasure started building at the base of Sal’s spine and deep in his gut as his hips jerked upwards to meet Q’s. “Oh God, Bri, _more…”_

They set a steady pace, Q still biting and sucking at Sal’s neck, drawing moans and little gasps from him. Sal’s hands were on Q’s ass, helping to guide every movement. For a long while, the only sounds were their heavy breathing, and their little noises of pleasure. Then Q sped up the pace, thrusting harder, faster, letting out long, low groans and mumbling half-nonsense into Sal’s mouth like he was speaking in tongues, “Oh _fuck..._ feels so good... wanted this so long... Sal oh God _Sal_ I love you fuck _I love you_ …” his speech lapsed into hitched cries and groans then, as he tensed up and came.

Sal felt his own climax beginning to surge through him, and after a few more hard upward jerks of his hips, he felt it rushing over him like a wave. Clutching onto his best friend, he came, half-sobbing at how fucking _overwhelming_ , how _right_ it felt, feeling as though he might fly apart at the seams if he didn't hold on, and at the same time, as if his mind was clearer than it had ever been in his life. Together they rode out the aftershocks, swapping deep, lazy kisses, fingers entwined, and Sal felt like the entire earth had just moved underneath them while they weren't looking - and he thought Q might feel the same way. Eventually, their breathing returned to normal. Q was the first to move, carefully climbing off Sal, and collapsing onto his back next to him. He blew out a breath. “Wow.”

“Wow,” Sal agreed, feeling slightly dazed. Then he laughed. “Hey, I guess you _can_ get laid in those Superman pyjamas.”

“Told you so. Ah, shit, we need to get outta bed. Checkout’s in a couple hours, bud. Do ya wanna use the shower first?”

Sal grinned. "We could _both_ use the shower first?"

Q looked at Sal and laughed, raising his eyebrows. "Not sure that's a good idea, pal. We might get a little delayed."

"Got a point there. Okay, I'll go first." Sal gathered his stuff and headed for the bathroom, then stopped at the door. "Hey, Quinn?"

 “Yeah?”

“I fucking love you.”

Q looked at him, a soft smile on his face. Sal hoped he would be lucky enough to get that look aimed at him forever. “I love you too, Sal.”

******

To: Sal

From: Joe

_Hey Sally boy! Looking forward to seein you later. Me and Murr wanna know if you’ve fucked Q yet. Aunt Joey wants the deetz! Oh yeah, and remember if you haven't you get next punishment_

 To: Joe

From: Sal

_Not sayin anything so drop it._

 To: Sal

From: Joe

_YOU FUCKED HIM! FINALLY_

 To: Joe

From: Sal

_Go fuck yourself._

 To: Joe

From: Sal

_Okay fine, we did. But I wanna make it clear that it wasn't a one time thing, okay?_

 To: Sal

From: Joe

_Happy for you, buddy :)_

 


End file.
